


Promises

by severalkittens



Series: Is this temporary love? [3]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Jan and Paulo follow up on something very important, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 21:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20316544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severalkittens/pseuds/severalkittens
Summary: "If you still want a quick hand job in the shower, I’ll do it after we beat…"Paulo had cut him off before he could finish the sentence. But Jan was going to say, “after we beat Villa.” A promise of victory as much as anything. And even though Paulo hadn’t let him finish, Jan’s pretty sure he got the message.





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

> One of these days I'll stop writing smut and pick up the plot.

Jan’s not having his best preseason. He doesn’t feel bad, and it’s not like he’s playing horribly, he just feels a bit creaky. It’s like his brain is sending all the right signals to his muscles, but they just aren’t cooperating like they usually do. But his body’s always been there for him in the past, healed itself from countless injuries, weathered on through countless tests. He’s certain it’ll come back this time, too. Just a few more weeks and he’ll be back to his warrior-like best.

He’s not having his best preseason, but he _has_ been walking on sunshine ever since they got back from Munich. In Munich, he’d had his way with Paulo. Coaxed him out of the celebration, let the hotel room door click shut behind them, and made months of fantasy real. He’d made Paulo come so hard he’d lain limply in Jan’s bed for hours, unable to muster the energy for anything else, save for running his fingers through Jan’s hair.

That one night is what helps him move past the balls that slip by him in practice, forget the times they conceded when he was on the field. And just like he’s sure his form will return, he’s sure Paulo will be back for more. After all, that’s what Jan had promised.

_If you still want a quick hand job in the shower, I’ll do it after we beat…_

Paulo had cut him off before he could finish the sentence. But Jan was going to say, “after we beat Villa.” A promise of victory as much as anything. And even though Paulo hadn’t let him finish, Jan’s pretty sure he got the message. It’s going to happen after the Villa game. So when he mentally prepares himself for the game, he also mentally prepares himself to handle Paulo, afterward, in the showers. Only problem is Pochettino doesn’t even pick him for the team. 

That takes a bit of the wind out of his sails. He’d let himself believe, just for a minute, that maybe his run of poor form was all in his head. But no, Pochettino’s concerned about his preseason form too. And Pochettino needs an example, someone to show the newcomers (and some of the old guard too, he supposes), what happens when you don’t measure up. Jan’s pissed beyond belief it has to be him, he’d give _anything _to be out there, but he can’t deny he fits the bill. 

It also nips his plans for Paulo right in the bud. Yeah, sure, he can still go back to the locker rooms, in fact, it’ll probably be expected. But there’s far less reason for him to fancy a shower if he’s spent all game field-side in his cozy sweater.

On the day, he sits pitch side and tries his best not to let his body language betray his disappointment. It’s tough at first, because they’re _really _not playing well. Down a goal to Villa, unable to string anything together. Jan wishes desperately he were out there, wishes desperately it was him sliding across the pitch toward Grealish, cleats connecting crisply with the ball. But it’s not, and so it’s a bit painful to watch. Jan lets his eyes flick toward the bench, toward Paulo, a few times too many.

Jan breaths a sigh of relief when it’s all over, tries to stop his heart from pounding. The game has done a number on him even though he wasn’t even playing, wasn’t even on the bench. He should just go home, call his mom and have an early dinner. But Jan wants what he wants. So after the game, he shrugs off Toby’s offer of a ride and lingers with the staff until almost everyone has cleared out. 

He spends ages in the mixed zone, much longer than he normally would. If the Belgian journalists find it strange, they don’t say so. They just look vaguely relieved he’s answering their questions. _No, I’m not injured. Yes, I’m happy at Spurs. Thank you. _Short, sweet, sure not to spark any media wildfires. Or at least that’s what he hopes.

When he pads back out into the locker room, Jan sees something that makes his stomach flutter. There’s one locker still open, with a bag leaning up against it, and a jacket thrown over the door. The jacket has a name and a number emblazoned on the sleeve- Gazzaniga 22.

Jan turns, and heads into the shower, mindlessly palming the front of his jeans as his own words come back to him once again.

_If you still want a quick hand job in the shower, I’ll do it after we beat…_

He quickly finds the shower that’s still running and stops in front of it. He can barely make out Paulo’s silhouette through the fogged up door. He wonders if Paulo can see him through all that steam, and whether he should give Paulo some sort of warning, some indication he’s here. He ultimately decides he'll just walk in. Paulo’s probably expecting him, and if he’s not? Well, Jan’s pretty sure he'll relish this sort of intrusion.

Jan opens the door. There's a sharp intake of breath, and steam pools out around his ankles, like it’s inviting Jan to come inside.

“Hi,” he says. His voice comes out much lower than he expects. 

Paulo’s standing in front of him, flushed with heat, water running down his chest. He’s got one hand on his hard cock, squeezing. Right, ok, so Paulo _was_ expecting him.

“Quick hand job in the shower, eh?” Jan says, taking another step into Paulo’s space, placing a hand on his hip. Paulo’s warm under his touch, eyes heavy and mouth red, like he’s been in here touching himself and biting his lip swollen for ages. He grasps Jan’s sweater with dripping hands, pulls him in close. He’s making little wet marks where he’s pulling, where his thighs are pressing into Jan’s. 

“You should take all this off,” Paulo says, voice so gravelly it makes Jan gulp. Paulo pulls off the sweater, lets it drop to the floor just outside the shower door. His shirt goes next, sticky and clinging to his chest in the moisture. Paulo rests his hands on Jan’s chest and leans in for a kiss. He lets out a little sigh when their lips touch. It feels this way every time he kisses Paulo, something like, O_h, God, it really is that good. _

Paulo’s fidgeting against him, sliding his hands down Jan’s chest, tongue hot between his teeth, breath heavy in a way that makes all the blood in Jan’s body rush to his groin. He’s hard and straining into his zipper by the time Paulo’s hands get there. His thumbs slip clumsily over the button, not nearly fast enough. Jan breaks the kiss to groan against Paulo’s cheek. He opens his mouth, maybe to tell Paulo to hurry up. But in that moment, Paulo finally gets his zipper down, finally brings his hand right where Jan wants it. He squeezes, and Jan releases the breath he’s been holding in a stream of slurred Dutch. 

Paulo eases his jeans and boxers down over his hipbones in one tug, discards them with the rest of his clothes. Jan takes him by the waist, carefully slots his leg between Paulo’s, walks him back, into the steam, under the water, until he’s pressed against the wall. He rests his forehead against Paulo’s shoulder, lets Paulo rock against his erection, nudge it with this own. _Fuck. _

“I’ve been in here for over an hour,” Paulo’s whisper is husky and, and Jan’s legs threaten to turn to jelly. But Paulo’s there, holding him steady. He’s rubbing his thumbs in little circles, coaxing Jan to bring his hips forward while he continues to whisper in his ear. 

“Just touching myself, _thinking about you,_” the last part is so low Jan almost thinks he imagined it.

“Almost came for you, too,” Paulo whispers, sinking his teeth into Jan’s earlobe. He’s hard enough he’s pretty sure he'll come untouched if Paulo keeps this up.

“But I didn’t,” Paulo’s breathing is growing short, and Jan wonders how close he is. “Wanted you to be the one to push me over the edge.”

“How do you want it?” Jan breaths, lips wet on Paulo’s shoulder.

Paulo takes a long exhale, stilling his hips and steadying them. “I want to come all over your hands.”

“And then?” 

“And then I want you to touch yourself, just fucking, _ah,_ rub it all over your cock.”

Jan doesn’t really trust himself to speak, so he just reaches a hand down and wraps it around Paulo’s erection. It twitches under his fingers when he spreads the precome around the tip. He picks a slow, easy rhythm, keeps rubbing and tugging until Paulo’s eyes flutter shut and he goes boneless in between Jan’s body and the wall.

“You like that?” he says. Paulo bites his lip and nods. 

“Jan,” he chokes out, “_I’m close.”_

Jan knows, he can feel Paulo’s stomach clenching against his knuckles, hear his hitching breath. And Jan can’t suppress his own moan when Paulo comes, throbbing under his fingers, spilling across Jan’s hand and stomach. 

He gives Paulo a minute to come down, lets him bury his forehead in Jan’s neck and gulp down breaths of steamy air. Paulo hums, voice hoarse against Jan’s skin.

“Do it.”

Jan runs his hand through the come dripping down his stomach, rubs it over the sharp ridges of his hipbones, brings it to his cock to ease the slide of his hand. He’s aching for touch now, and it feels so good to just work himself hard with Paulo’s come, lose himself in the way he feels, slippery, heavy, hot.

“Fuck,” Paulo groans, and Jan’s knees go weak in a way that makes him stumble a little, and throw out a hand to try to catch himself.

“Hold me,” he gasps out. Paulo turns him gently, pulls Jan’s back tight into his chest and holds him steady. 

“Got you,” he whispers. 

“It’s so fucking hot you’re into this,” Jan whispers. 

“Hmm,” Paulo sighs, pressing his lips briefly to the back of Jan’s neck. “I want it all over you.” Jan splays his other hand out over his hip, lets Paulo tangle his fingers through Jan’s.

“Yeah, looks so fucking good,” Paulo says. 

It _does_ look good, Jan thinks. Paulo’s big hands on Jan’s body, his come wet beneath Jan’s fingers, Jan’s own cock red and dripping. So much hotter than if he was just touching himself in his bed, at home. 

“Make yourself come,” Paulo orders. 

Jan picks up the pace, and it’s only a few more shaky pulls before he’s gasping and squirming in Paulo’s arms, come spurting in ropes onto the shower floor. Paulo holds him through it, sucks on his neck, noses at his hair while he catches his breath.

“Fuck,” he says, when he finally opens his eyes, turns against Paulo’s muscular chest so their faces are touching. “_Quick hand job in the shower, my ass,” _he mimics. 

Paulo doesn’t respond, only kisses him. And even though he’s just come hard enough to worry he'll slip and fall walking out of the shower, even though their lips are closed and it’s chaste, Jan’s heart pounds wildly in his chest. It’s still pounding when Paulo pulls away, hands fixed on Jan’s arms. 

“We’ve got to get out of the shower, Jan,” he says, eyes still closed.

“Hmmm, why?” Jan says, leaning back in.

“I don’t want to turn into a fucking prune.” 

Jan snorts with laughter, pulls Paulo away from the wall and shuts off the water. He lets Paulo dry him off, then goes about collecting his discarded clothes while Paulo does the same. He’s suddenly hyperaware that even though they’ve made each other come in ways so filthy they make him blush, he doesn’t really know Paulo all that well.

“You want to get something to eat?” Jan says, pulling his sweater back on. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” Paulo’s waiting for him, towel wrapped around his waist. The walk back into the locker room, tentative in a way that can only mean Paulo’s as hyperaware of their strangeness as he is. 

Jan twiddles his thumbs nervously while Paulo dresses himself. He’s perched on a bench several spots away from Paulo’s locker, hopefully not too close, but also not too far, totally unsure of whether he should be watching the stretch of fabric over Paulo’s tanned chest, or staring dumbly into the distance. When Paulo nods at him, _ready?, _he follows Paulo out the door, carefully positioned at arm’s length. 

But the grin Paulo shoots him as they’re walking through the carpark melts Jan’s heart, and scatters a good bit of the awkwardness away as well. He surreptitiously glances around, then slides his hand into Paulo’s and squeezes it, once.

“What if I hadn’t come by?” he says.

“Guess I’d still be in there, edging myself and thinking about you,” Paulo shrugs, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“Stop,” Jan groans. He swats Paulo in the arm. “Keep that up and I’ll drag you back to the shower for a second round.” 

“Why would that make me want to stop?” Paulo’s eyes are all crinkled up and Jan barely stops himself from letting out a whine.

“God, you’re going to be the death of me,” he says, unlocking his car and opening the door.

“Seriously?” Paulo says, laughing. “Surely you’ll be the one to kill me first.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Jan says. Paulo slides into Jan’s passenger seat with a wink. 

“Maybe it is.”


End file.
